If You Give a Ballet Rat a Mask
by qwerty313
Summary: Set after the 2004 movie, EM. Meg has the Phantom's mask. What will she do?
1. Prologue

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AN: My first fanfic in a looooong while. And my absolute first "phanfic." So, bear with me ;; Constructive criticisms will be appreciated! 

And, oh yes. There isn't any EM action in the prologue. Actually, there's no Erik at all. The prologue's just setting up the situation for the story. Please dun run awayyyy…! ;; I posted the next chapter as well so there will be some Erik time…

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Meg woke abruptly from her sleep and heard herself gasp as she did so. Suddenly aware of how hot and sweaty she was, she threw off her blankets and tucked her messy hair behind her ears. 

Where was her sense of peace and safety?

Oh that's right…it was gone now, along with the Opera Populaire – the place where she had spent most of her life in…

Sighing, she sat in stupor on her bed for a little while, trying to make sense of things. After the opera had been burned down, everything seemed surreal. Madame Giry and she now lived in a small room above a small bakery…until the Opera was rebuilt, that is.

Meg breathed a small sigh of relief and glanced at her mother, who was sleeping in another bed a few feet away from her. Yes, the opera would be rebuilt…It was about a week since the incident. At times she wished she could ask Christine what had happened underground in the Phantom's lair, but she didn't want to risk making her friend feel distressed.

After the chandelier had crashed, there had been a whole uproar and Christine was nowhere to be seen. Meg remembered when she led a group of men towards the Phantom's cave.

She was terrified of what she might have found there, but she was determined to go. Was she too late? Did something horrible and irreversible take place already? She wanted to run into the dimly lit cavern to find Christine; but she was forced to remain strong and composed in front of the raucous group of rowdy men, and could stride at only a hurried pace.

At first when she entered the strange place she was stunned and filled with awe – so _this_ was where the infamous Opera Ghost dwelt.

For a small fleeting moment she was a little child who was eager to explore this new uncharted territory, until she saw the white porcelain mask of the Phantom. As if she were suddenly doused in freezing water, she jerked out of her reverie. The feeling of panic and dread nearly choked her. Something, perhaps a strange and morbid sense of curiosity, made her gravitate involuntarily towards the sinister white porcelain mask and pick it up.

She felt sick and frantically ran into the unknown hallways, opening and closing doors to rooms she'd never seen before, desperately crying "Christine, Christine!" but to no avail…

Meg pushed the unpleasant memory away. She had been worrying for nothing anyhow. Christine and Raoul were safe now…

She reached under her pillow and felt the touch of the Phantom's mask. She pulled it out and looked at it, more puzzled at herself than at the actual item. She didn't know why she had kept it. It seemed to be a sick and strange thing to do. Why would she keep the mask of a horrible deformed murderer? She was surprised that she could actually sleep with it underneath her head at night. She thought to herself grimly, _this mask must be cursed, and now I'm the one going mad…_

But something inside her told her to keep it. She hated it. She hated the mask too. Why couldn't she throw it away? She had tried to one time, but then a horribly persistent nagging feeling plagued her afterwards, as if telling her she would be throwing away something very important…

Disgusted at herself and at the mask, Meg roughly pushed it under her bed, banishing it far into a deep corner. Fine, so it was still in close proximity to her; but now at least she was a couple of feet away from it, as opposed to a few inches.

She couldn't just throw it away, but she didn't feel comfortable keeping it with her either. _That's it,_ she thought, _once the opera's rebuilt, I'm going down there and putting it back where I found it._ This way, she thought, the Opera Ghost would have no good reason to haunt her…whether he was now dead or alive. Determined to go back to sleep, she lay on her bed and closed her eyes.

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AN: For some reason I can't indent my paragraphs..if anyone wants to tell me how...it would appreciated :3

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	2. Going Back

AN: moooo it's such a slow-moving start…if you get tired of reading about Meg, and need your Erik fix desperately, I guess you can scroll down to his part, and then read Meg's part after. I don't want to bore the heck out of you guys, but I don't want the pace to go too fast. (although I guess in this case, it might be going too slowly) Forgive me! Xx;;

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In the room atop a cozy little bakery, golden sunlight filtered in through the thin film of dust on the window. Meg Giry let out a satisfied sigh as she successfully stuffed her belongings into an old tattered luggage. The opera was finally rebuilt, and its workers were allowed to move in. 

Meg thanked God that the opera was rebuilt; it really was a miracle. After all the disasters and catastrophes that had happened in the Opera Populaire Meg imagined that there would not be many who would be up to the task of investing money in such an…eventful…place. But surprisingly enough, Andre and Firmin kept their roles as the managers. Meg supposed they thought that the source of all their prior problems – the phantom – was now dead. Of course, the fact that their patron was willing to provide the money and the means helped as well.

According to her mother, the Vicomte de Chagny agreed to help rebuild the Opera Populaire, albeit a little reluctantly. Christine had asked her new husband of a favor, knowing how important the opera was to Mme. Giry and to Meg.

Mme. Giry and Meg have since written several times to Christine, and she to them. Although the talented young soprano was now far away, her love for the people who had treated her as family was still very strong. Meg had written a few times, wanting to ask whether Christine would ever come back and visit them, but never did so. The young dancer already knew the answer. There were too many strange and unpleasant memories here for her beloved friend; it would be best if she not come back.

Meg suddenly stood straighter when she remembered the mask she had discarded under her bed. She knelt on the gray wooden floor and peered under her bed, and sure enough the mask lay in a corner, a good distance away from her. Meg pressed her lips together as she reached out her arm to grab the white mask, but of course, it was still out of her reach.

Slightly annoyed, Meg stuck her head under and strained to reach the mask…she was so close, she felt her fingertips slightly graze the hard and smooth material…just a little closer…

"Meg Giry!"

Meg leapt up in surprise and promptly hit her head against the wooden bed frame.

"Ow!" she yelped, and scrambled out from under the bed, rubbing the back of her head with a slight grimace. "What is it, Maman?" she pouted. She looked up to see her mother, Madame Giry.

"What do you think you are doing? The carriage is already waiting, and here you are, wasting our time," Madame Giry said, with her hands on her hips, looking at her daughter with an exasperated expression on her face. Although Madame Giry was perfectly serious, her daughter could see a slight spark of amusement in her eyes from the sight of her daughter pouting like a little child.

Meg searched for an explanation. "I, uh," Meg stammered a little, "I was admiring one of my ribbons when the wind suddenly blew it under the bed," the dancer said, desperately hoping that her mother wouldn't realize that the window was actually closed.

However, she realized that she would have no such luck when she saw her mother cock an eyebrow and glance skeptically at the closed and dusty windows. "I see." The older woman murmured, but turned and started for the door. "Just hurry up, Meg, and get whatever it is you need to get." Madame Giry said, annoyed. When she closed the door, Meg heard her mother mutter something along the lines of "that strange daughter of mine!"

Meg breathed a sigh of relief. If they were not so pressed for time, she was sure her mother would ask further questions. Meg dove under the bed again, and this time successfully retrieved the cold porcelain mask and put it into her luggage.

* * *

Erik glanced upwards from his organ as he heard occasional loud clangs and bangs and thuds from the people above. The dancers, actors, and workers were returning to their "home" and their furniture were still being brought in. 

The Phantom glanced about his lair. His living space was still in a mess from that fateful night his lair had been ransacked, and worse, his mask had been taken! He wasn't surprised though. "Of course it was taken," he had growled to himself, "it's their token, a perverted trophy of theirs; 'Look!' they will say, 'this is the very mask of the hideous deformed murderer that once lurked beneath the opera!' I will still be a monster, even until I am long gone…!" snarling, he beat his fist against the wall of his dwelling.

These were the kind of thoughts that raced through Erik's mind throughout the days while the opera was being rebuilt; torturing him, taunting him. It wasn't the fact that the mask was gone…if the mask had fallen into the water he would've been fine. He had other masks.

But the thought of what his missing mask would be _used_ for was what made his blood boil. His anger turned into hatred for people, for Christine who betrayed him, for Raoul who made all his carefully laid plans to waste.

But then the hatred would give way to shame.

No doubt the individual who had taken possession of his mask was using it to laugh at him. He could hear him now: "The Phantom was nothing to be afraid of at all; the stupid coward couldn't even be found at all at that night! All we could find of him was the only thing that hid his wretched ugliness…"

That mask would become a symbol of his humiliating defeat that men and women would take sick and twisted entertainment and pleasure in. His image would be degraded into nothing but a pathetic sniveling coward. And he couldn't tolerate even the mere thought of that.

Which was why he absolutely had to be merciless this time around. Ruthless.

He would strike so much fear into people's hearts that they would not ever dare laugh at him again.

He would make the people who ridiculed him pay_…_and pay _dearly_.

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AN: Oh joy, Erik's gone off the deep end again, has he? I hope he's not too OOC…I confess I've never read Leroux's PotO …everything is based off of what I know from the movie. :X 

BTW, reviews happy feeling more motivation to get a chapter out. Sooo, if you like the story so far, review! ;;


	3. What are you doing with my mask?

Meg laughed happily as she got out of the carriage and looked at the Opera Populaire from top to bottom, in all its former glory. It was again breathtakingly grand and beautiful. She grabbed her bags and ran into the building before Madame Giry could instruct her otherwise.

She ran to the stage (knocking into a few poor souls who were carrying in dressers and mirrors) with a dreamy smile on her face. She bent down and felt the new wood underneath her.

She couldn't wait to dance on the stage again, with the bright lights shining on her and the music playing in the background. Too long had she danced without music. She had practiced in her little dusty room on top of the bakery, calling up past pieces from her memories; but she'd much rather dance to a real orchestra playing in front of her.

She couldn't wait until life was just like how it was before. Well, as close as it could get to "before" at least.

She looked around her wonderingly and realized that the only place she would ever feel comfortable was here. It was such a strange place to consider a home. She was sure that many women would desire great mansions, with many servants to pamper them…but not she. _I'm perfectly content right here,_ she thought. _Right here where I can dance whenever I want, just dance…and maybe even sing._

Oh she had no plans on being the next "La Carlotta" (heaven forbid!) or "Christine Daae," but she enjoyed singing, and she would be glad to have occasional singing parts in the operas…

* * *

Erik smirked as he put the wax seal on the envelopes. He wondered how his letters would be received this time around. He held the two envelopes – one to each manager – in his gloved hands and paused for a moment. 

Perhaps it would be too soon to tell them of his existence. He couldn't have them panicking and then closing down the opera, could he? If they did so, he would kill them for disobeying him, and then the already questionable reputation of the Opera Populaire would be further tarnished. Or if they didn't close it down, they'd go looking for someone to take their place, and he didn't feel like introducing himself to new managers _again_. Better to stick with the ones who knew first hand just how destructive his wrath could be.

He set the letters back on his desk, a bit disappointed that he wouldn't be able to harass his little managers for a while. But he was sure the waiting would be worth it.

He'd let them go on with their "rebirth" of the Opera Populaire and have them prepare for the opening performance. The performance will undoubtedly be spectacular and they would have their little taste of success; let them think that they had control for a little while. _Then_ he would drop the unpleasant bit of news to them.

He was sure by then their penchant for money and their past experiences would allow them to gracefully accept his existence and demands.

* * *

Meg lay in her bed as the moonlight shone softly on her. She blinked, looking around the room, thinking about the girls sleeping in the same room as her. Several ballerinas had returned like she did. _I guess the accident scared off the rest,_ she thought. 

There were several new faces. They would have to go through auditions to see whether their skills were up to par with the opera's standards; but Meg was sure that they wouldn't have to worry about a shortage of dancers.

What she wondered about was who would be playing the leads in the opera from now on…

Meg turned away from the moonlight. She really didn't want to leave her warm sheets and covers…but she had told herself that she would rid herself of the dreaded mask as soon as she could. She didn't think she could bear being in possession of it any longer.

Softly, gently, she lowered her feet to the floor and picked the mask from its hiding place underneath her pillow. She quickly hid it under her sleeve, just in case she should run into anyone. And before she left the room she took one of the candles from the wall to light her way in the dark corridors of the opera.

The architecture was exactly the same as it was before the fire, so Meg wandered down to the dressing room that used to be Christine's. The more she thought about it, the more she doubted that the mirror still served as a passageway to the Phantom's lair. But she didn't know of any other way to get there; so she opened the door and stepped into the room.

The room was sparsely furnished, but that would be fixed in a mere couple of days, a week at most. She glanced around the room to look for the familiar mirror, but – surprise, surprise – it wasn't there. She supposed the methods which the Phantom employed to come and go from the opera were no longer secret.

At a loss, Meg sighed helplessly and trudged out the room and closed the door a little too quickly, breaking the eerie silence of the night with a _slam_.

Meg winced when the sound reached her ears and quickly ran off, just in case someone came around to see what had caused the sound. She stopped running after a few seconds, since it didn't seem as if she had woken anyone up until she heard a dull thud and a series of footsteps in the distance.

Looking back on it, Meg would admit that she overreacted, and that it really wouldn't have mattered if someone had found her wandering around the Opera Populaire late at night; but the combination of darkness, ominous footsteps, and being alone made her panic.

Meg ran as quietly as she could through the hallways, but as she glanced back to make sure there was no one behind her, she accidentally tripped over a heavy wooden chest a worker had carelessly put down to the side of the narrow hallway. She uttered a cry of surprise when the candle tumbled out of her hands as hit her head on wall.

After hitting her head for the second time in less than a day, Meg grimaced as she rubbed her head. She took assessment of her surroundings; noting that, thankfully, the candle just rolled on its side on the floor and hadn't gone out. After taking the candle, she looked up at the offending wall, only to see a narrow crack of a hidden door.

_Strange,_ Meg thought, _I'm sure they didn't build any secret passageways this time around…_ Then she remembered that her mother had mentioned a month earlier that not all portions of the building had been burnt down…which was why the reconstruction didn't take as long as it could have. _I must be in one of the old parts…_ Meg mused.

Fascinated, and hopeful that it would lead to the lair of the Phantom, Meg carefully placed the candle on its holder again to guide her through the dark and grimy hallway. As stepped through the doorway, she found a winding descending staircase. After looking around, Meg took tentative steps.

After what seemed like forever, Meg finally reached a part she recognized from the night she went to the Phantom's lair. Relieved that she had finally found it without getting too lost, she raced down the watery pathway, anxious to reach her destination.

Sure that the Phantom no longer dwelled in the opera (they couldn't find him at the night of the fire, after all), Meg made no attempt to be quiet or stealthy, running through the water.

But her heart stopped cold when she finally arrived at his lair. The living space didn't seem abandoned at all; the candles were lit and seemed as if they were regularly replaced, and the place seemed significantly more organized than when she had last left it.

Trying to put those details away from her mind, she took out the mask from her sleeves, her hands shaking a little. She would just put the mask down and leave. As simple as that. The Opera Ghost didn't seem to be anywhere near anyway –

"Well, what do we have here?"

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AN: Aaaaagh, okay, I will admit. This was a cruddy chapter...So many clichés, and it was so tedious…but at least now we can have some good E/M action, right? blah Reviews, thoughts, constructive criticisms will all be appreciated. 


	4. Teaching You a Lesson

AN: Wheee, thanks for all the reviews, guys! It **totally** made my day :D I swear I was doing this happy little dance thingy…then my family started looking at me weirdly.

Okay, will stop fawning over all my dear reviewers now.

But, just a few more things before I start:

I Love Gerry – Yes, there _totally_ needs to be more E/M fics! (cackles.) Are there any places with just…TONS of E/M fics? (am so obsessed…it's so bad…)

La Romatique Perdue – thanks a lot for the heads-up on the traps in the catacombs. I suppose it's a bit late to put them in this fic now…hopefully I'll do other fics after this one…and then I'll have the traps. :3

jeevesandwooster – thanks for the info on the indentations. :D Hope you'll still find the fic interesting when it gets to the E/M parts.

Again, reviews / help, all are appreciated. :D

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Erik had suspected that there was something awake aside from the usual bunch of rodents when he heard a faint slamming of a door. The thought of checking to see what it was crossed his mind, but he had more important things to do – like composing music. 

But then he heard splashing.

...No rat could make those big splashes.

...Not even the giant ones.

Angry and annoyed to have been disturbed, Erik got off his chair. He hadn't expected anyone to be able to find the way down here, but that problem would be solved quickly enough. He hid in the shadows and waited for his prey to come.

Onlyhe didn't expect his prey to be the unsuspecting daughter of Madame Giry. Surprised to find her in his lair, Erik stayed in the shadows, baffled. Why was she here? Did her mother send her down? Unthinkable; Mme. Giry had never – and would never – do such a thing. How did Meg Giry find her way here?

However, all questions were quickly erased and his heart turned to smoldering anger when he caught a glimpse of a familiar porcelain mask in the hands of Meg Giry.

* * *

"Well, what have we here?" 

She shivered when her she realized her worst fear was true. Meg honestly thought she would die right on the spot. Afraid of what she would see if she had met his eyes, she cast her eyes downwards and pressed her lips tightly together. She would be composed…she would be brave…

His ominously heavy footsteps were the only thing that broke the silence between them.

_Thud…thud…thud…_

She felt him step closer and closer to her, circling her.

"Little Meg Giry…with _my_ mask?" The Phantom sneered. Meg felt him snatch the mask from her hand. "Come to finally return the mask to its rightful owner?" He whispered mockingly into her ear as he approached her from behind. "What, it didn't provide enough entertainment anymore, is that it!"

Before Meg could utter a word, she suddenly felt Erik's left hand around her neck. He didn't choke her – but he was definitely in the position to. Gathering courage, Meg forced herself to speak. "Wait, you misunderstand – "

"Me? _Misunderstand?_" Erik seethed. "Fine then," he chuckled derisively, "tell me, enlighten me, if you will. Why did you take my mask? What use would it be to you other than to use it as a device to _humiliate_ me?" The last two words were spoken so vehemently that Meg flinched.

"I…I don't know!" Meg admitted, frustrated at knowing that he wouldn't believe the truth. "But I didn't do it for the reasons you – "

"Silence!" Erik added slightly more pressure against the girl's neck. He grew tired of her lies. "I thought that Madame Giry would have brought you up to be a more honest person," his deep voice now sinisterly calm and smooth. "but apparently she's been too lax in her disciplining."

Before Meg knew what was happening, she felt Erik roughly lead her to a dim hallway and thrust her into a room. "What are you doing!" She demanded.

"Teaching you a few lessons." And with that, he slammed the door shut and locked it.

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AN: Wow. I didn't expect this story to go where it is now... Poor Meg...I hope this chapter is coherent and not too bad…especially since it's 4 a.m. here right now…(yes, I get inspired at odd times, blah). Now that I look at it, it's such a short chapter. It still took me a long while to write it though. 

Darn thing won't let me put exclamation marks and question marks next to each other. Boooo...so that's why some questions have only an exclamtion mark.


	5. Deeper into the Darkness of the Night

AN: Whee thanks to all my reviewers! You guys really inspire me to write more, mwah!

meghankatherin - Wow, I'm honored to have my fic be the first E/M fic you've read. :D Glad that you like it so far!

XxDallysGirl4Life-x-GerrysLoveTartxX - don't worry, Erik won't be doing anything like that in this fic!

jeevesandwooster - lol, there's a lot of weird formatting things, isn't there? I keep finding one with each new upload, it's like "let's guess what weird formatting problem I'll have with _this _update!"

...man, I use a lot of exclamation marks.

reviews, advice, etc.are always appreciated :D

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Meg sunk slowly to the floor with her shoulders slumped forward. Her hands hurt from repeatedly banging on the door. She even tried kicking it, but nothing made a difference. 

"Oh…what to do?" She whispered to herself forlornly, feeling desperately alone and abandoned. Who knew how long the phantom would choose to keep her here as his prisoner? What if he never let her go?

When would she see the light of day again? What about mother and Christine? Would she be forced to spend her life with someone who didn't even want her company? She was sure he was cruel enough to keep her here, as long as she suffered…

Being absolutely lost with no answers in sight, Meg Giry let herself curl up on the floor and weep.

* * *

Erik angrily scrawled on a couple of measures on the parchment paper as he ignored the racket coming from Meg's room.. 

He was so insulted by her foolishness, her impudence. He had always considered Mme. Giry a sensible and disciplined woman who would raise her daughter up properly, but tonight's events had shown him otherwise. No worries, he thought as he smirked; he'd teach her daughter not to steal or to lie…_especially when it came to the Phantom of the opera._

Lost in his feelings of ire, he threw his fountain pen aside and tore the composition apart. It didn't matter…he hadn't been able to write anything acceptable a while after Christine left anyway…

He fought to keep the thoughts away…

Christine…

Suddenly it felt as if there were a small needle embedded in his chest that pierced deep inside his heart with every single breath. The all too familiar feelings of anger, shame, and despair coalesced to form a heavy weight dragging him down, deeper into the darkness of the night…

Getting up from his organ, he staggered to his room to suffer in silence.

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AN: Gah, I know I'm horrible and rotten for just leaving this chapter so short, but I felt that it was a good place to end the chapter. (go dramatic pauses!) Dun kill me, I will update again later today (prolly not till a lot later tho..I'm pretty busy during the day, sob), so check again tomorrow! I've already got more than half of the next chapter done, sooooo yes. It has some sort of vague E/M fluff. It's like..fluff light? (is hoping that will compensate for short chapter) 


	6. Puzzling

AN: Sorry that the chap came out later than I said I would. When I tried to upload the chap the site didn't show it and I didn't have the time to fix it till now. Rar. But here's the new chap. Hope you guys enjoy it!

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The heartaches were familiar to Erik by now, but that didn't make enduring them any easier. When he finally "regained his senses" (as he would call it) he would feel nothing for a while; he'd be numb…and numb was good. It meant that he couldn't feel anything…no pain… 

But it also meant no compositions. Or rather, no outstanding compositions; no pieces written of his caliber, and he wouldn't accept anything less. It drove him into further madness sometimes...

But at least after the whole ordeal he had finally decided what to do with little Meg Giry. He wouldn't do anything too cruel to her, since she was Mme. Giry's daughter; but she still had to be punished for her crime.

He would keep her down here for a week or two, have her believe that she would never go back to the world above again. He would fill her heart with hopelessness.

Then he would return her to where she belonged. It would be his warning of what would happen if she dared to displease him again. She would fear him, respect him.

Deciding that it was time to check upon the ballet dancer to see how she was adjusting in her new living quarters, Erik quietly unlocked the door and slowly opened it.

He was surprised to find her curled up on the floor, her golden hair flowing around her like a sort of halo.

* * *

Meg didn't move when she heard the door creak open. After the initial shock of being confronted by the phantom had faded away, despair turned into defiance. She knew she wasn't entirely innocent, but she knew didn't deserve to be trapped in a room underground either. However, she was too tired to face her captor now, so she let her eyes stay closed to feign sleep. 

She assumed that once he saw her sleeping he would leave her alone, so when she heard his footsteps approach her, Meg's heart skipped a beat. Now silence. What was he doing? Meg could feel her heart beating wildly in her chest, her skin prickled in fear.

* * *

Erik walked towards Meg, and glanced towards the large bed with satin covers. Did she mean to fall asleep here on the floor? He was about to turn and leave - where she chose to sleep was none of his business - until he noticed the tear streaks on her face. Had she been crying? 

He wasn't sorry for his harsh behavior; but something tugged at him that refused to let him leave her lying on the floor like that.

Erik slowly knelt down and gingerly picked her up and walked towards the bed. He felt her goose bumps underneath his hands. Was she cold? When he set her down gently onto the soft bed, he pulled the sheets over her.

He jerked his hands back.

He had never expected to do this for someone other than Christine. And now here he was, treating this ballet rat as a guest rather than a prisoner.

Narrowing his icy blue eyes, Erik walked out of the room and shut the door.

* * *

The second she heard the door close Meg's eyes flew open and she breathed a sigh of relief . Her heart was still racing and her entire body had been so tensed up; she had been so afraid... 

But here she was, lying in a large, billowy, and luxurious bed.

Meg sunk deeper into her pillow.

She really didn't know what to make of him, this Phantom of the opera.


	7. For a Very Long Time

AN: Wow, I never realized my chapters were _that _short. When I went to actually read it on the site I was like 'wow...there's barely anything in this chapter. I'm surprised people are still reading this!' (the chapters have a way of looking longer in those dinky document windows) So I thank all my reviewers for still reading the story, even with it's dinky little chapters. (extremely thankful)

sooooo I tried to make this chapter longer.

But yeah, thanks so much for the feedback, guys :D Your reviews keep this phic going. (loves you all)

I Love Gerry – yer phics are good! It was my pleasure to review them :D I shall wait patiently for the sequel to the oneshot (can't read the BB fic cuz…I haven't watched it yet! sob)

The Century Child - I'm really glad the pacing made you feel the story was more believable. :D That was exactly what I was going for.

Right. Will stop taking up space and get to the story now. Hope you guys enjoy!

* * *

Meg blinked sleepily, entangled in the layers of soft white blankets. She gave a contented sigh - it was so comfortable; she wanted to never ever leave this wonderful place... 

But there was something hovering in the back of her mind. What was it? A part of her urged her to go back to sleep before she fully woke up, but the stubborn side of her was determined to figure out what it was she needed to remember...

…And since when was her bed so nice and relaxing?

Taking a few moments to fully realize where she was, Meg 's cozy little world of sleepy bliss was suddenly sucked away. All her worries came rushing back to her with a vengeance. How long had she been sleeping?

Then she heard her stomach grumble in hunger. She had forgotten all about eating, and now that she remembered, she felt hungry. Oh well, Meg thought, it wasn't like the Phantom would serve her food next to her bed, would he? But upon turning to the nightstand by the bed, Meg saw a silver tray with a cup, pitcher of water, and a plate with some buttered toast.

She stared at it. She couldn't trust it. Oh, but now the smell of the buttered toast called to her...and as plain as the food was, it was still food. Picking the piece of bread up suspiciously, Meg took a small nibble off the crust. Maybe it wasn't poisoned, maybe the bread was fine. After all, the Phantom was hospitable enough to tuck her in bed, wasn't he?

Meg put the unfinished piece of toast back on the plate. No. She couldn't start thinking that way. The Phantom was a cruel being, a monster. She was his prisoner, after all. And she had heard all those horrible stories of him since she was a child. Granted, she had made up a few of those stories herself to scare some snobby girls when she was much younger; but she was sure the horrible rumors about him held some truth. She had even seen some of his works personally.

She shuddered from the memory of Joseph Buquet dangling at the end of a long piece of rope. He was obviously no stranger to murder. And what he put Christine and Raoul through...

The sooner she escaped, the better...

Then a disillusioning thought hit her.

Even if she _did_ successfully escape - and the chances were slim - what use would it be? He was the Opera Ghost; he would have his ways of finding her as long as she stayed in the Opera Populaire. And when he caught her again...

Meg's face paled. She was doomed from the moment she had decided to set foot in the Phantom's lair; there would be no going back now, she was past the point of no return.

* * *

Erik didn't know why he was still sitting at his organ. For the past six hours he had been attempting to compose something. _Attempting_. 

He wasn't sure which was more excruciating: the pain of having his one and only love slip through his fingers, or the frustration and anger of not being able to compose music. Either one by itself was devastating to him. He lost no matter what. He laughed bitterly at himself. He just couldn't win, not once in his life. Not even just ... _once._

He often asked himself what he was waiting for; why was he still in this world? He preferred to think that perhaps he _was_ a pathetic coward after all...too damned scared to take his own life...

As much as he absolutely detested cowards, he'd rather call himself one than to admit he was a fool.

A fool, because hidden deep somewhere, _somewhere_, in a small corner of his heart...he dared to hope. He secretly hoped that the garish light of day would become instead golden sunlight that would warm his skin; that someone wouldn't see him as a monster, someone to rescue him from this wretched life.

Someone to _love _him.

But that hope was shattered, broken, into a million tiny fragments when Christine left. It was shattered, but it wasn't dead yet; and how Erik wished it was. Why, _why_, was it so damned difficult to kill this hope? He _knew_ he was condemned to exist in this miserable way of life as long as he lived. Nothing would change it.

He _knew, _he knew.

So why wouldn't his cursed heart believe it?

* * *

Meg put her hand on the doorknob. What was she going to do? Stepping outside this room only meant that she would come face to face with the dreaded Phantom. 

And his anger was directed at _her._

How ironic it was that the room which served as her cage suddenly became a quasi sanctuary.

Not able to bring herself to open the door, Meg took a few steps backwards. She took a deep breath to calm herself...but she jumped up, startled, when the door suddenly swung open.

* * *

Erik cocked an eyebrow when Meg stood in front of him. He felt himself almost laugh – she looked so utterly shocked and speechless it was almost amusing. 

Choosing to ignore the look of surprise on her face, he strode to the nightstand to pick up the silver tray. He noted that only one piece of toast had been nibbled on, at the most. "Was breakfast not to your liking?" He asked, leering.

"No, I merely wasn't hungry," the lie came out bolder and smoother than she thought it would. _Steady, Meg,_ she thought to herself. She had to be composed. She refused to be some docile little captive of his.

She immediately wondered if that decision would ultimately cause her death. Being defiant against someone who could easily kill you at his whim was not wise. Her hands twisted the sides of her nightgown nervously.

Erik narrowed his eyes and twisted his mouth into a strange smile. "I'm so glad you approve," he said sarcastically. "Because this is exactly how it is going to be…for a very long time," he said, emphasizing the last three words. He saw panic creep into her eyes and felt satisfied, so he picked up the silver tray and made for the door.

"Wait!" Meg pleaded, trying to reason with him. "You can't possibly do this! Maman will worry – "

"I took care of that already," he replied coolly. "I had her go out to take care of some business."

"She won't be gone for that long; she'll notice! You won't be able to keep me down here forever!"

"Is that a challenge?" he smiled contemptuously.

Meg stayed silent and bit her lip in anger; she didn't dare speak for fear of worsening her situation.

Taking her silence as a sign that he had said enough for now, Erik brushed by her, silver tray in hand. But then he heard her utter something and pull on his sleeve. "You - You're bleeding," She said, alarmed. He glanced down at his left arm and cursed under his breath. The blood had run through the bandage he had wrapped around his arm, and now it was bleeding through the sleeve of his white shirt. She wasn't supposed to see that.

"What did you do?" She asked, almost in an accusing way, which only irritated him further. "Nothing!" he snarled as he pushed her away. "It is none of your concern!"

Before she could say or do anything more, he slammed the door shut and locked it.

* * *

AN: Man, this chap was...a lot of work. And I'm not even sure if I like it that much. After the whole M/E conversation I thought "Wow. This is just depressing." I'm hoping that I'll be able to make the next chapter one with real fluff, as opposed to the not-really-fluff-stuff I had last chap. And just what did Erik do to his arm anyway? Reviews, comments, advice are always welcome! 

Oh yeah and um. Anyone know how Erik's bedroom looks like? (No…they're not gonna do anything like…that, but I need to know for a scene…) Is there a set description, or not? I read somewhere that he sleeps in a coffin...?


	8. Oh Dear

AN: Man, sorry for the incredibly late update you guys. My schedule just got extremely busy D: (and it doesn't seem like it's gonna get any less busy…so updates are prolly going to still be pretty irregular) and then when I found time to write this chap, I spent forever trying to make it longer (and it's still not even that long, blah)…and beware of some Erik sadistic-ness. I really need to somehow make him fluffier.

I think I sort of threw out the credibility of this story in this chapter too**. D: **If anyone has any advice on how to make this chapter better (or if anyone notices any gaping plotholes anytime in the phic), feel free to tell me!

And **thanks so much** for the replies about Erik's room; I really appreciate it! I was planning on having a scene with Meg stumbling into Erik's room…but after I wrote it I didn't like it. D: I'm sorry for asking you guys about some of the info and then not use it…I'll find a way to put Erik's room in somehow!

Note:

Tadreindra – No, you didn't miss anything! You'll find out :D

On with the story!

* * *

Meg stared at the door angrily. She was fed up of being shoved into and locked in this room. What happened to his arm? She looked around to see if there was possibly anything that could help her pick the lock. 

When she was younger she learned to pick locks after persuading an old stagehand to teach her how.

Back in her childhood, she had been convinced that the Phantom dwelt in one of the mysteriously locked rooms of the Opera Populaire; the ones that her mother told her she wasn't allowed into. After all, where else could he live? For a few weeks, she dragged Christine through all the rooms of the Opera Populaire during their spare time, searching for the legendary Phantom of the opera. It was all in innocent fun; the young girls fancied themselves on a dangerous and exciting quest, full of adventures.

But of course once Madame Giry found out, she naturally put an end to it. And that was that.

An idea came to Meg when her eyes rested on a wardrobe in a corner of the room. She walked towards the tall piece of furniture and huffily opened the doors. She was greeted with the sight of tattered cloth and torn lace. They must have been destroyed by the frenzied mob that night. She had to say, it was a shame. Even in their sullied state it was obvious that these dresses were once of the most beautiful and elegant apparels in all of Paris. They must have been originally intended for Christine.

Meg felt a pang of heartache. She wondered how Christine was. She must be living very comfortably…Meg wondered if her close friend missed her company.

Pushing the dispiriting thoughts aside, Meg tried to focus her thoughts elsewhere. Perhaps somewhere in all these destroyed dresses…a small dull glimmer of something caught her eye on the bottom of the wardrobe. She bent down. Could it be - ? Yes! Smiling triumphantly, she clutched the bit of hoop wire in her hand.

Thank goodness for crinolines, she thought, making her way to the door. She bent the hoop wire the opposite way it curved so that it would become a little straighter, and she slid the wire into the keyhole until she heard a satisfactory _click_.

She pushed the door open a little bit and peeked out the small crack. She heard nothing, save for the occasional dripping of water from somewhere. Cautiously, she opened the door just enough so that she could step out. She looked around; he was nowhere to be found.

* * *

Erik sat comfortably in his seat in box five, ignoring the throbbing in his left arm. Today the opera started the auditions for new performers, and he was curious to see what newcomers there would be. Today the ballet dancers would audition, and tomorrow would be the singers. The singers were what he was most interested in; he was sure La Carlotta wouldn't dare set foot in his opera house again. Not after he had killed her beloved Piangi. 

He didn't come today to see how the ballerinas would be. He left his lair to take his mind off Meg.

…Only to find that his mind would drift back to her. As he watched the ballerinas perform on stage he was impressed with their skill and grace. Was_ Meg better than them?_ He suddenly wondered. He had always thought her a talented dancer when she was younger, but once Christine came, he became too preoccupied with Christine to really take note of Meg; but he knew she was a wonderful ballerina from the whispers he would hear from members of the staff and audience, and that she was one of the best dancers in his opera.

But still…He raised an eyebrow as he watched another girl pirouette. He would have to have her practice. Just in case.

* * *

Meg wandered around the lair, glancing at everything she could. She didn't know when she'd be able to wander around again. Not quite trusting the silence around her, she tip-toed from place to place; her ears alert for any sign of the Phantom. 

She was careful not to touch anything, so the Phantom wouldn't suspect that she had been up and about; but when she approached the organ, she couldn't resist sitting down and admiring the instrument. So this was where he composed his great pieces…

She let her fingers glide lightly over the keys, until she noticed a red splatter of liquid on the instrument, and then a few smaller ones on another. _Blood?_ She wondered. Startled, she drew her hand back. She thought of his left arm from earlier.

Looking at the organ in confusion, her eyes followed the faint trail of blood drops down to the side of the organ – where several mirror fragments lied haphazardly. Why were mirror pieces lying here? Meg leaned down to get a closer look, until she realized there were faint traces of dried blood on the edges of one of the pieces.

She covered her mouth with her hand, appalled_. Did he..?_ She took a few steps backward, only to find herself stumble into someone.

Her mind went blank from fear and shock. Meg immediately whirled around and instinctively backed away from the enraged Opera Ghost…

…and into the pile of mirror fragments. At once Meg felt something pierce into her feet and pain shoot up her legs. She uttered a gasp as her legs collapse from underneath her. She reached out her arms to brace herself from the fall, but instead her hands grabbed onto two sturdy and outstretched arms.

She didn't have to look up to know who it was, but her head jerked up anyways. Terrified brown eyes met piercing blue ones.

Meg felt her consciousness slip away…

* * *

_Perhaps it was all a nightmare…_

She was lost in a sea of softness again. She flitted between being awake and asleep, until a sharp stinging sensation in her feet brought her back to consciousness.

Her eyes fluttered open.

Her first thought was that she was not in her usual room. She felt smooth velvet underneath her, the lighting was very dim, and there was a curtain of sheer material around where she was lying. She could see nothing that lay beyond the curtain except for darkness.

Darkness that seemed to threaten to engulf her…

Alarmed, she immediately sat up, and was surprised by the sight around her. She supposed she was on a bed of some sort, covered in crimson velvet with a bronze swan as its bed frame. Still a little dazed from sleep, Meg's brown eyes trailed downwards to see her feet were wet, with a small basin with water beside it. Suddenly a shadow cast over her. Meg slowly lifted her eyes.

* * *

Erik could feel Meg's wary gaze on him, but he didn't meet her eyes. 

He was furious. How dare she lurk around his lair? Who did she think she was?

He found himself thinking the thought that had run through his mind for the millionth time in the past few days: _If she were not Madame Giry's daughter…_

He tore the cloth he had gotten earlier into long strips and grabbed Meg's right ankle to start bandaging her foot. He must've been too rough though, because he saw the dancer wince out of the corner of his eye and heard her let out a small cry of pain.

He ignored her discomfort and made a point as to not apologize. But he did hold her feet gently now, and slowly wrapped the cloth around it. He wouldn't risk damaging her feet so that she wouldn't be able to dance anymore.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as he bandaged her feet.

"Thank you," she said awkwardly. Her gratitude was met with stony silence. When she realized that he wasn't going to say anything, she grew irritated. "And I'm sorry for wandering around," she said, not hiding the annoyance she felt.

"Funny, you don't sound sorry." Erik said bitingly as he finished binding up Meg's other foot. Meg scowled. "You can't simply lock me in a room and leave me there and expect me to be _happy_!"

Erik gave a mocking smile. "Oh can't I?" He put his hand on the velvet bed and saw her eyes widen a little.

Deciding to have a little fun by scaring the young ballerina, he crept towards her, speaking softly with an underlying threatening tone. "Considering I can dispose of you easily, Meg Giry," He began, towering over her and smirked. She glared back at him defiantly, but he could see through her façade; she was terrified. Leaning slightly, he looked down and felt satisfied filling the disrespectful little ballet rat with fear. "…if I were you, I'd be happy simply to be _alive_." He said, giving her another insincere smile. "However, even if you don't appreciate your current situation, you should be happy staying here, shouldn't you? There are no locks here after all," he tauntingly laughed, gesturing at the swan bed.

Meg was sick of this cat and mouse game he played with her, and she was tired of being treated like some sort of pitiful form of entertainment for him. She felt her hand jolt up to hit him before she could stop herself. Immediately she regretted her action and pulled her arm back, but it was too late; the Phantom had already held her wrist in a vise-like grip already.

Erik had to admit, he did expect Meg to rebel to some extent, but never to hit him. He was ready to unleash his fury upon the ballerina when suddenly he felt her arm jerk away unexpectedly, causing him to lose his balance on the bed and fall on her.

Erik's eyes widened in shock and surprise.

* * *

Emma Noble – :D thanks for your review! And I know the last part seems suggestive :X but I promise nothing of the sort will happen. 

AN: Reviews, advice, and constructive criticism are always appreciated!


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